


breathe, suffocate

by Larrant



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Asphyxiation, Dark, Emperor Kylo Ren, Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M, Mind Games, Non-Consensual, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, ROFLMAO, Rape, Unhealthy Relationships, more like terrible dynamics and i put in some porn that isnt rly porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-09-08 08:19:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8837353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Larrant/pseuds/Larrant





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eekanimp](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=eekanimp).



 

 

The air is stale, a chill through his bones as he steps inside. There is no light here, nothing but the pale rocks that glow from the walls, the black, jagged throne carved from bedrock, adorned with gold.

And the man inside sits on the throne as if it is his. Legs spread languid, a stained cape draped about his shoulders, embroidered with crimson, gleaming with gold. An unlit lightsaber, loose in his grasp. It gleams in the dark, silver and white, a predator's claw and yet Hux is barely drawn to that, is drawn instead to the opaque eyes of the man before him. His Emperor.

Detachment, the only emotion that can be named now. Detachment, for he has stepped within a dream, and the dream is cold and harsh- visceral, the sound of his heart, caged beneath his ribs.

"General." Slow amusement, and the dark haired Knight tilts his head, voice rich as it echoes through the stone. Hux is cold.

He understands why he has been summoned now.

"Ren." A reply. He can manage nothing else. And even if-- even if he feels nothing, there is bewilderment in his words, caught in his lungs by some inescapable, ignorant pressure. The cold begins to creep at his heels, dragging up, numbing his limbs, his breath.

The stretch of red in the dark. A cold smile, cruel as Ren gazes upon Hux. "'My Emperor'," he corrects, chiding, amused.

Eyes flickering, not breaking from Hux but moving downwards, the suggestion to look. And led by Ren's vision, he sees it. That inhumanly tall body, broken on the ground. It is unmoving now, the cold, pallid skin wet with blue. It's almost trivial- he had not noticed, not noticed til now, the body in the dark.

His throat works, he remembers to swallow.

 _Odd_. If he could not see the disfigured face that opened in a wordless, distorted cry, he would not think to know who it was. There is nothing of power in that broken body, nothing to look at, not any more. Snoke is no more.

There are shadows behind Ren when he looks up. As if with that tepid realization- the world has cleared. There are six of them, the Knights. He knows them by instinct. Shadowed figures, standing in vigil in the corners of the chamber. Vassals of their new King.

Kylo leans forward, and any trace of attention Hux had paid to the shadows in the hall vanishes, gone as if it never was.

“Come now, General,” and any trace of the gangly, angry boy is gone (perhaps Hux has only ever been imagining him). It feels as if Ren might be laughing, amusement in the cool twist of his lips. “Should you not bow before your emperor?”

A murmur of wind by his ear, or is that merely his imagination, a slow, sinking pull of gravity, tugging him to the ground. Or perhaps he imagines that too. But reality is stark, his anger is resignation, and he clenches it into a fist. Nails digging crescents into his palm, the silence between them. Kylo Ren, on his black throne, waits.

His nails go deeper, digging until the red stains his fingernails. He can imagine the red, seeping into the crevices between his fingers. It doesn’t matter if he takes a long time, if the silence drags into minutes. Ren only seems happy to wait, to watch him with blank eyes and _wait_.

The ground is cold under Hux's knee, rough on the material of his pants. He sinks to his knees without ceremony, eyes dropping to the ground, and a wind that was not there before runs cold on the back of his neck.

“How may I serve?”

And with his words he can almost hear the smirk, feel the red satisfaction seeping from Ren's smile.

It is sound, not vision that guides him to visualize Ren's footsteps, as he stands, leaves the throne, footfalls echoing solid on the stone steps. He feels the brush of air when Ren stops before him, sees the black of Ren's boots.

This is, perhaps, the end.

The bitterness runs deep, but perhaps it was always inevitable. He has always expected this, some part of him, known his death at Ren's hand. To be summoned here before any other, before the declaration of Ren's reign- there is no clearer sign.

“You think too much, General.”

Hux stops thinking at all.

The man is silent for a moment- and then he raises his voice, loud enough to carry to the Knights who stay enclosed in the shadows, “Leave us.”

Perhaps- there is a whisper of wind, a murmur of it- or perhaps there is only silence, but a moment later Ren begins, conversational, darkly amused. “Your thoughts betray you still, General."

A low, soft chuckle. He can smell the blood on Ren, smell the burning, charred scent of cooked meat. "Look up at me."

Drawn by an invisible will, Hux does.

Ren bends down, a whisper of cool air between them and then there is a gloved hand- sticky from blood- a hand stroking across his cheek. Tender. "You've always wanted to be Emperor, haven't you." A gentle mockery, and everything of this is except Hux cannot move, there is a pressure about his limbs now, he is forced to the ground and his limbs will not even twitch for his blaster, Ren will not let him make his end his own.

His jaw clenches, he forces himself to breathe.

His heart betrays him, it's stumbling, uneven beat, the hatred under his skin, the hatred bubbling up in what must be a final, desperate attempt at regaining control.

Ren smiles. The cool, slick pressure on his cheek is gone, Ren has straightened, cloak pooling about his feet, gaudy extravagance that is hatefully fitting on him. "Follow me."

It is, despite the softness of Ren's tone, an order.

Hux obeys.

The cooling body of the old Emperor is ignored, Hux finds he has no eyes for it now, no eyes except for Kylo, for the straight, regal back of him-- he finds himself wondering, in a fit of strange hysteria, whether he could still reach for a blaster, whether he could shoot Ren in the chest here and now, whether he could shoot himself--

But then they are climbing the steps to the throne, they are at the black marble of it and Kylo suddenly turns- there is a stumble of motion, the sound of air, of whistling- and there's a hand circling his arm, his back lands with a thump against the cold stone rest. And then the cool of the throne is at his back, there is some strange, twisted symbolism to this, he feels the stickiness of the arm-rest and he is looking up and his breath is caught in his throat, sharp and splintering.

Ren's eyes are opaque looking down at him. His mouth is still slanted in a strange smile, a terribly, terribly cold smile.

"What are you doing." A rasp at his throat, fingertips tightening on the bloodied seat. Slick, sticky. So much of it. He wonders if Ren had left Snoke to bleed out, before dragging his corpse down the steps.

"Tell me," Ren begins. "Did you really think I would kill you?"

The word is a chill between them.

"Are you not about to?"

This is a mockery, he knows that much. He has already been made one. Ren will not keep him now. If he did--

"I have better uses for you."

There is a hand on his shoulder, shoving him back, his head collides with the stone with a crack and Hux is dazed, vision blurring, vision clearing-- he's raised a hand, nails digging harsh into Ren's arm. It is futile.

"--what are you doing-" Hux's words, stuck on a repeat (there is fear now, the beginnings of it- he has not heard Ren liked playing with his victims but now- not he is not so sure, now he does not dare to be certain)- and Ren does not respond.

"Your pride is most important to you, isn't it General." Jarring, the contrast of their positions. The contrast of Ren's composure. And he is contemplative now, the strange light is in his eyes and Hux is silent, there is blood seeping at his neck, he is breathing uneven but Ren does not seem to notice. Does not seem to care. "Your pride. Your dignity."

"What if I took that from you."

Hux has a moment to think about those words, has a moment to not understand, to look at Kylo and feel nothing but incomprehension but then-

The moment is gone, Kylo is leaning forwards, a hand tightening across the small of Hux's back and then the cold space between them is not space at all, there is a mess of seconds, of sensations, and the sharpest one might be the pain flaring sharp and jagged at his neck, might be the way Hux chokes out a gasp and his body is straining to struggle, to draw his blaster, to do _anything_ -

He is almost no longer in his own body.

"Ren- what are you doing-?!" Uncomprehending. Furious. Afraid.

Ren draws back, and his teeth are red in the luminescent glow. Hux feels it trickle down his collarbone.

"It's alright General." Soothing, callous. "You can simply watch, I don't need you to do anything."

It is, he realizes, true. He can do nothing but watch.

His body is floating again, too heavy for him to move. He knows, with a sinking sensation, or else a sensation of weightlessness, buoying him up beyond his body- he knows what is coming next. He supposes he should not be surprised.

A helpless, desperate rage overtakes him then, a terrible anger and Ren chuckles as if he senses it, as if he sees it- "Be good for me now."

Ren's hands again, on his body, on his clothing, turning him over, pressing him awful and ill-fitting against the throne. Cold air on his neck, on his shoulder. Ren's mouth, pressing at the bloody mark he had made.

"I've thought of this, you know." Conversational again. "Fucking you on this throne. Still wet with Snoke's blood."

A hand in his hair, dragging his head around and then there is a mouth on his, Kylo's mouth on his, metallic and bloody, and Hux bites down because he can- because he remembers to- and Kylo laughs, tightens the choking pressure about his throat until he cannot breathe.

 _Stop it, stop it_ -

He thinks it must be useless. He knows Ren hears.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it either,” Ren continues, and Hux has the momentary vision of him with blood running down his chin before he is seeing hard marble again, unwilling to look at the man a moment longer than necessary. “Holding me down, marking me...”

Ren's lips descend lower, “Claiming me.” He holds back a choked snarl when Ren’s teeth find his shoulder, bite down hard enough to blood. A heat claws at his navel. And the heat- is it Ren's, or is it his; it might be both, there is no difference any more.

“And in those darker dreams… being held by me, being marked by me." Even through the haze Ren's words are clear. Hux holds it in, the shiver that runs through his spine- because it’s true, and if he did not know this was real, it might even resemble his nightmares, the darkness of it, the cold, the helplessness and the heat that flickered in his belly.

Perhaps Ren had been those too.

"You must have woken in the mornings, trembling and gasping. Still feeling my hands in your hair, pressing down on your throat-"

His hands spasm when Kylo’s fingers slide their way down to his ass, drag down his trousers and underwear. _Kriff, kriff_. He tries, hard, to focus on anything else. The helplessness is a pervading, awful thing, spreading from his chest to every part of him, leaving him shivering and cold.

“Ssh,” Ren is soothing him, low and gentle and cruel as Hux shudders. His gloved finger lingers at Hux's entrance, almost deliberating.

Without warning or word, Ren presses his finger in. Hux bites down until he tastes blood. It hurts. More than the wrongness, more than the discomfort, it hurts and Hux is _trying_ but his body won't move. The terror in his veins won’t go away, the unending, rising tide of red anger. Ren is saying something, he must be saying something. Hux does not hear.

Another finger, too soon, too fast.

He can feel himself relax when the fingers withdraw, as the feeling of discomfort disappears. It’s almost enough to convince his body that there’s nothing coming next;

And then Kylo thrusts inside him, and every one of his thoughts stop.

More accurately, everything is suddenly replaced by blinding pain.

It hurts, it hurts- his fingers scrabble at the cold stone of the throne, he can feel Ren’s weight on his back, on his body, and it’s terrifying. The clawing pain is worse than anything, the hatefulness, the _rage_ -

_No, breathe, breathe. **Breathe**._

It's easier to let his focus go. Separate from his body. The pain becomes secondary, the emotions fade. His spasmed struggles slow.

[insert]

_No, I'm afraid not._

A brush of thought, is it his-? But then--

_no- no-_

Everything is in blinding, terrible colour again, the slowly fading scene an explosion in his mind, tearing through his thoughts, and everything is more vivid than before, the visceral darkness, the metal on his tongue, in his nostrils, inhaling and breathing copper-

He thinks the sounds he hears are his own, the hitched whimpers and the half incoherent pleas. Kylo thrusts again, burying himself up to the hilt in Hux. The nauseous, splitting sensation of being torn apart.

“It’s alright, it’s alright,” Ren is murmuring, though there is nothing of concern in his voice, nothing except the cold, except the hitch in his own breath. He’s pressing his lips to Hux’s neck- and even through the pain he can’t help the shudder that goes through him, the tears burning at his eyes threatening to fall.

In the end Hux can’t do anything but stay there under Ren, gasping with pain as the man thrusts into him again and again, each time the pain increasing, the roughness feeling like it’s scraping into skin and blood.

And then it's over, the heat pressing into him is gone, Kylo's body is gone and the loss is hateful as it is relieving.

He wonders, indistinct, trying to grasp back the fractured pieces of his mind- what he must look like. He almost cannot breathe for the shame of it, for the sick, terrible thing coiling through him, rising to engulf- he realizes, with terrible, sudden precision, that this will never pass. Still he cannot move, the stone is cold under him, an inexorable chill, deep into the heart of the planet, deeper until it reached the burning core.

He remembers--

He still has a way out.

Trying to make his limbs move, trying to stop the damnable shaking, and his hand reaches his blaster, trembling fingertips tightening around the cool metal. And then, between one moment and the next- there is a blinding pain running down the back of his hand, a breaking pressure and Hux cannot breathe because there is a pressure about his throat, his hand must be broken, the bones fracture.

"No," he hears, languid, from somewhere very far away. "I'm not finished with you yet, General."

The next thing he knows is darkness.

 

 

 


End file.
